


The Dr.'s Skull

by firefly_knights



Series: Meddling Who? [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly_knights/pseuds/firefly_knights
Summary: To you Whovians out there- don't pass this up because the title says "Dr" instead of "Doctor"... I wrote it that way for a reason.





	The Dr.'s Skull

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I wrote years ago based on a prompt I found somewhere on Tumblr...

"Would you stop, please?" the Doctor asked slightly annoyed, turning to his companion. She paused her rhythmic drumming upon the ruins and pouted. Dare she admit it, but she was rather bored. Being bored is not a very common sickness one suffers from when they travel with the Doctor, but she simply was.

When the Doctor had told her they were going to twenty-third century London she'd been beyond thrilled. That was before they arrived in the TARDIS only to be met by the shattered, desolate skeleton of a once bustling, lively city.

The old Snow Lane was all but shamble leftovers, as were the tattered four-floor buildings that used to line Giltspur Street. After quite a bit of stumbling, she realized they were heading in a Southeastward direction.

"Doctor," she spoke up for the first time since setting foot into twenty-third century London, "Where are we going?"

"St. Paul's Cathedral," was his curt response.

"Any particular reason?" she wondered aloud.

"Well, of course there is. We're tampering with the analytic side of the mind, you see. That's what I'm best at after all."

Indeed, she thought, continuing to look about her at all the rubble. The gravel street was riddled with cracks and random pavers were strewn about the roads. Vehicles were overturned and graffiti littered most surfaces. Great trees were uprooted and tossed upon their sides. In all truth the entire place looked like one big movie set. It was astonishing to think that this was all that remained of a city she once knew so well.

"Here we are," the Doctor's voice pulled her from her thoughts. Before them stood what remained of a once magnificent structure. The stain glass windows had long since been shattered, the colorful remains sparkling like misplaced jewels upon the ground. The beautiful architecture was reduced to a rotting corpse of a cathedral, the once mighty dome crumpled inward upon itself as though a mighty hand had punched it in from the top.

When the Doctor bent down among the rubble, she was only slightly surprised to see the object he pulled out from among the ruins. Perhaps what surprised her the most was the condition in which it was in.

The human skull looked fairly untouched by the destruction around it. As the Doctor weighed the skull in his palms, a slow soft smile stretched across his lips.

"Doctor," she whispered hesitantly looking from the skull to his face, "... whose was that?"

His ever-soft smile grew slightly as he turned to face her. "He was a British army doctor- and a brave one at that. Nerves of steel, this dear fellow had. In fact," he mused, tossing the skull and catching it gently with his fingertips, "I know just where this belongs. Keep up." 

His long strides had a certain bounce to them that his companion did not quite understand, nor did she try to. Instead, she kept her silent wonderings to herself as she stumbled after the mad man towards his blue box.

~~~

Bored. That's what the young boy was- bored. After enraging two middle-age women, being nearly boxed in the ears by a grocer, and making four children cry, all he could think about was how decidedly dull every other human being on planet earth was.

Ruffling his curls with his fingers, he sighed. He needed an escape from reality, something to take his mind away from the monotonous and very often atrocious lives of those around him. Something to hold his interest that wouldn't react so foully to what he deduced.

Of course, he couldn't exactly continue his experiment with frogs that had been going so well. Father had eventually caved and thrown out the poor creatures when Mother began complaining about the smell coming from the fridge.

"Ah, just who I was looking for," a decidedly cheery voice spoke up from behind him.

Just as he turned around to firstly deduce the stranger and secondly tell them to buzz off, his piercing eyes locked onto the human skull the man held in his hands. For a moment he ignored the man and woman, instead focusing solely upon the skull. Quickly his mind whirred to life and began deducing from whom it came.

The man, according to bone density, was Caucasian, according to the viscerocranium in which there was a tiny chip. Antemortem seeing as it had tried healing but had not completely healed when the man died in his seventies- no, later. Perhaps his early eighties, yes that sounds about right.

As he studied the well preserved bone, it seemed to grow closer to him. It only took him half a second to realize that the stranger was holding it out to him. The curly haired boy glanced up into the man's face but for a moment paused in his deducing to lift a single brow in a silent question.

"Go on, take it," the man said, a half-smile curving crookedly across his features. "Believe me, this skull will become invaluable to you one day."

The boy highly doubted this stranger's statement seeing as the only item that meant anything to him really was his mother; he did not have the tendency most humans have of becoming attached to things that will eventually fade. Yet none the less, he took the skull, deleting the man's promise from memory without a second thought.

Weighing the skull in his palm, he contemplated its origins, failing to notice the absence of the strange man and his companion, whom the boy had completely ignored without even trying to.

~~~

"John Watson," the stout man had introduced just days earlier.

Now sitting across from him in their shared flat, the curly haired man who claimed to be a highly-functioning sociopath weighed his precious skull in his hand.

Something was bothering him, pulling at his nerves and slowly making his dark brows dip into an unhappy crease. His mind was telling him he'd been wrong, something he rarely, if ever, was. 

Yet still it told him he was wrong- but about what?

**Author's Note:**

> ...thoughts? Love to hear them!


End file.
